


Wherever You Are Now, I Hope You’re Happy

by scannerbrain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Mention of abuse, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, PostSecret, Secret Crush, Using Art to Confess Love, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scannerbrain/pseuds/scannerbrain
Summary: Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes served together in the army until an accident sent Bucky home early. By the time Steve was discharged, Bucky had disappeared. Steve went on with his life, but never forgot about Bucky.Six years later, Steve finds a one-in-a-billion chance to reconnect with Bucky. He takes it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [odetteandodile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/odetteandodile/gifts).



“I see you’re still folding hospital corners.”

Steve Rogers blinked at Peggy Carter’s smirking face, then squinted at the thumbnail of his video feed in the corner. From Peggy’s side, she could clearly see most of his bedroom, the bed tucked into the corner opposite his computer. His gray comforter was folded down, exposing a white and blue striped bed set tucked so tight he could bounce a quarter off it. On that same wall, he had a small window that looked out onto the building right next door.

“Some habits die hard, I guess,” Steve admitted. He straightened up, looked back at Peggy, and adjusted the screen so the glare from the early morning light wasn’t obscuring her face.

“Not every habit,” Peggy leaned her chin onto her hand, those sharp brown eyes studying his face. Steve’s hair was longer and combed back. Though he was still neat and orderly, he was far from the clean-shaven soldier she had commanded years ago. Glasses perched on his nose and a beard had taken over his jawline. Clearly he wasn’t required to wear uniforms anymore, but she couldn’t help but comment, “Your jeans are wrinkly.”

Steve scoffed and wheeled back from his computer desk. “Who irons jeans?” he asked, fishing his shoes from beneath his bed. He rolled back into place and started tying his sneakers.

“So, what’s your game plan for today?” he asked Peggy, distracted.

Peggy pushed a lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear and leaned back from the computer, “Well, I have to go to the office for a little bit to drop off a final report, but then Angie and I are taking off early to head to the beach--”

Steve bobbed his head, listening while Peggy detailed her plans. He glanced down at his shoes and for a moment, had a fleeting thought that he hadn’t polished them. Peggy’s voice was far away, coming closer, and he waited for her scolding. Instead, he heard, “Steve? Hey, Steve?”

He looked up and his fingers gripped his sneakers. Right. Sneakers didn’t need shining. 

Some habits died harder than others.

“Yeah, sorry, Peg, I thought I forgot to do something,” he said, and finished off the knot. He started on the other shoe.

Peggy hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, sure. I thought the connection gave up the ghost. You were too still.” She took a sip of coffee. “What’d you forget?”

Steve shook his head, finishing the second knot. He lowered his foot and looked properly at the screen. “Homework, I thought,” he lied. Based on the twitch at the corner of Peggy’s mouth, she didn’t believe him.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” she commented, “You’d never forget homework.”

Steve laughed, “I’m a loner, Peggy. A rebel.”

“You are no James Dean, Steve Rogers.”

“You’re right,” Steve said with a grin, “That was always Buck.”

That name lingered in the air. Steve almost wished he could take it back and swallow that name down. It was too loaded.

“I think this is the first time you’ve said his name and smiled at the same time,” Peggy said. “It looks good on you.”

Steve cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. “Maybe after my last break up, I’ve gotten a little nostalgic.”

“You were always nostalgic.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but then Sam’s voice rang out from behind the door, “Steve, if you want a ride to campus, we’re going now.”

Steve leaned back to respond, “Coming!”

He looked back at Peggy, who was already waving him off. “Have a good day at class. I’m sure you’ll text me nonsense when you’re supposed to be paying attention.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Peg. Have fun at the beach.” Steve smiled and waved, then ended the call. The video disappeared and revealed Steve’s laptop background. Eight figures in desert camouflage stood in front of an armored car and smiled back at him: Jim, Dum Dum, Monty, Gabe, Jacques, Peggy, Steve himself, and… Steve lingered, then he heard Sam calling again, “Steve!”

He snapped his laptop shut, shoved it into his backpack, and trotted out into the hallway. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized as he shuffled through the narrow passage past Sam. Sam slung his arm over his shoulder and walked them over to the door, where Natasha waited. She rolled her eyes fondly and picked up her bag. “About time.”

“Sorry. I was talking to Peg. She’s going out this evening, so we had our call now,” Steve explained. 

“Isn’t it like 4 in the morning in LA?” Sam asked. He unlocked the door for the group, and held it open while herding both of them through the door.

“I don’t honestly know if she sleeps?” Steve said. He shrugged. “She never slept then either.” She hadn’t been the only one.

They crowded down the stairs to the small foyer. Narrow mailboxes full to bursting stood opposite the stairs. Their mailbox, normally neat and orderly except for Natasha’s occasional online shopping binges, had a pink flyer sticking out of the mouth. Steve snatched it on the way out, crumpling it into his pocket.

The group piled into Sam’s ancient Bug. Natasha settled in the passenger seat and moved it up so that Steve’s legs could fit in the back. His knees still bumped the seat in front of him, but he wasn’t about to argue. Significant others always got shotgun.

“What was in the mailbox, Steve?” Natasha asked while Sam pulled out of the parking spot. She twisted in her seat, and stared back at him expectantly.

Steve had nearly forgotten. He fished the paper out of his pocket, and looked it over. “Uhhh… It’s for an art show and guest speaker?” he said, “Frank Warren, and something called PostSecret.”

“Oh, art,” Natasha nodded, draping her arm over the back of the seat while she studied Steve and that crumpled piece of paper, “Definitely meant for you then.”

“Sit down, Nat, you’re gonna get me another ticket,” Sam scolded while he merged into traffic.

Nat snorted, but turned around in her seat anyway. She stuck her tongue out at Sam. Steve chuckled and looked over the flyer again. The show was opening tonight. He folded the flyer and considered his schedule. After the last class of the day ended, instead of coming straight home to call Peggy, he was free.

He set the flyer on his lap and fished out his phone. He took a photo of the flyer and sent it with a text message to Peggy:  _ Guess I have plans for tonight too. _

Her response came a couple minutes later:  _ Oh, Angie loves that site. Have a good time! _


	2. Chapter 2

Steve had never seen this particular gallery this packed. The dolled-up attendants were busy greeting and then gesturing each individual to a gallery behind them. It was a constant stream of people past the glass doors and into the gallery. He wasn’t sure he had seen anyone leave yet. 

He lingered in the hallway, earbuds in, focusing on the familiar heavy beats of his music. By this point, his heart beat in time with the heavy bass. 

His phone buzzed, ande looked down at a text message from Natasha:  _ You gonna be home in time for dinner? _

His fingers flew over the screen as he responded:  _ Nah. You guys go ahead.  _

_ Have fun! _

Steve huffed out a breath and lifted his head. Indecisive, he stared out into the foyer until his song ended. Pausing the playlist, he tucked his phone and his headphones away, then turned to finally face the music. 

WIth his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders rounded, he shrunk inches into himself, hiding from the world.. After one more breath, and staring straight ahead, he headed into the crowd. He nodded at the attendants, shuffling behind the crowd a couple of steps until he was finally in the room.

Directly ahead of the entrance was a sign describing the exhibit. It was the same he’d discovered while researching during class: Anonymous artists submitted postcards containing secrets, and those secrets were posted to a website every Sunday. Some were sad, some were happy, and some were downright chilling. There were whole communities built up around the secrets to analyze and collect them. He’d found a particular subreddit dissecting the secrets with surgical precision. The way these investigators tracked down locations, individuals, and stories in the postcards was fascinating and horrifying. He hadn’t ever considered how much information he was passively putting out on social media until he’d combed through those communities.

The first secret he came across was a light green card with a collage of cut-out pictures. Front and centre a determined runner was the most prominent figure. Around them, were the words: “FUCK YOU, ASTHMA!!! I can do ANYTHING you can’t slow ME down!” Steve laughed aloud. That was a sentiment he could get behind.

How many secrets had been collected throughout the years? Steve wondered while he scanned over the dozens and dozens of secrets displayed on the walls. Not every secret spoke to him like that first one, but based on the other participants frozen in place in the gallery, they clearly reached someone. 

He made his way around the room while carefully dodging and weaving around awestruck people. On the next wall, he stumbled across a series of secrets sent by soldiers. Every single line was pulled straight from his recurring nightmares.

“We said goodbye.”

“I can’t tell anyone where I’m deployed or when I’ll be home.”

“I forget why I’m doing this.”

“If I die, no one can know why.”

“I would give anything to hear your stories again.”

“Please God, don’t let me die here.”

Steve stood in the middle of the river of people. He raised his hand to wipe at the tears burning in his eyes. He took a ragged breath and stared at that last secret. It wasn’t just his secret. Too many people thought that same thing.

He forced himself to turn away from those secrets. It took several moments before he felt brave enough to look back up at the wall, instead of his own two feet. The next secret he saw was a picture of an old rusted car with a handwritten message scribbled across the hood: “It’s always been you.”

That stung. A bullet straight to his heart.

He tried to shake the burning sensation that nested deep in his chest. 

_ Focus, Rogers _ , he told himself.  _ Focus on the happy secrets. They’re everywhere. There’s no need to fixate on the past. _

It was easier said than done. It seemed like his eyes were drawn to the many sad stories people were desperate to tell. He wished he’d left the room after seeing the Fuck Asthma postcard.

He turned towards the door and noticed a table towards the end of the circuit. It was crowded with people. Some of them were leaning over and scribbling something on paper provided. The sign hanging above the table read: SUBMIT YOUR SECRETS HERE.

Steve walked past the table, but his eye was caught by another secret on a nearby wall. It was stark white with bold handwriting: “The door may be closed but it’s not locked. If you knock I will answer with a smile.”

He stopped and stared at that secret. He was vaguely aware of someone grumbling as they narrowly avoided running into him, but he wasn’t paying them any mind.

Steve didn’t believe in signs, but this one was awfully poignant.

He glanced back at the table, then wove through the crowd. The table itself was cluttered with paper and markers. In the middle, there was a locked box with a slot. A folded card above it indicated that this was the submission box.

Steve fished out his wallet. He opened it and slid a photo from the holder. Two men were smiling up at him from the photo. One was Steve, sitting with his back to the camera, looking over his shoulder. The other was Bucky.

The photo had been taken on the day everything went wrong. Their last happy photo together. Their last photo together, period.

He set it on the table, and reached for a marker. Uncapping it, he held it to the photo. He knew what he wanted to say. It was so easy. It was always on his mind. Bucky was always on his mind.

Steve’s hand shook.

He capped the marker and returned it to the table. 

Steve slid the photo back in its rightful place. He pocketed his wallet and turned, quickly walking back to the door. He needed to leave before he was tempted to destroy the only physical copy of his last happy memory of Bucky.

He looked back at the last secret he’d spotted.

_ If you knock I will answer with a smile _ .

He’d still knock. That was a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had to wait a whole weekend to get to a color printer that wasn’t going to cost him an ungodly amount. Work had free color printers. And even if using the printers for personal projects wasn’t technically against the rules, Steve had to be careful. The boss at Stark Robotics was nosy, if nice enough. 

A couple hours into his shift on Monday, Steve decided it was finally quiet enough to start work on his project. After printing from and locking his workstation, he grabbed his backpack and empty mug. The printer along the wall whirred to life and spit out a full color photo. A much younger Steve and Bucky smiled up at Steve from the still-warm paper. The original photo was still safe in his wallet.

Before anyone else could see, Steve grabbed it and quickly made his way to the small lunch room. It was empty, and was likely to stay that way  at 2pm on a workday. By now, everyone else had finished their breaks, giving Steve enough time to complete his project with his stolen work supplies.

Dumping out the contents of his backpack revealed a blank postcard, scissors, and a gluestick. With his clandestine print-off and a Sharpie liberated from the communal marker mug. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket along with his wireless headphones. He opened the bluetooth settings and waited for the list to load his headphones. Instead, a speaker set named “Sonic Deathmachine” appeared. 

That was new.

He couldn’t help himself. Bucky had always sad curiosity was one of his only flaws. He tapped on the speaker. It connected and loaded.

On the other side of the door, the heavy beats of his music roared. There was a surprised shout, followed by a crash. Steve froze, and his heart tightened. The jig was up. He took a moment to collect himself before he pushed open the door. 

His stomach sank when he saw his boss face to face with a drone, the aforementioned Sonic Deathmachine, blasting Steve’s music.

Curiosity killed the cat. He hoped he wasn’t the cat today. 

Tony cooed, “Shh, baby, what’s gotten into you?” His fingers danced along the undercarriage. A shattered mug lay at Tony’s feet, but thankfully no liquid puddled around his ratty, oil-stained hightops. 

Tony. His boss. The Stark in Stark Robotics. Nosier than a mole, but also the smartest guy Steve knew.  If he wanted his project to stay a secret, any chance of that had likely gone the way of the destroyed mug.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said, pausing the music. An awkward silence filled the air and suddenly he wished he could turn the music back on. 

Tony looked over his shoulder at Steve and laughed, “Rogers? Didn’t expect that kinda music from you.”

At the very least, he didn’t seem angry. Steve ducked back into the lunch room to grab the broom and dustpan from behind the door. Kneeling at Tony’s feet, he played it cool and swept up the remains of the mug. “What kind of music did you expect?”

“Honestly?”

Steve stood once he’d collected all the pieces in the dustpan and found Tony looking him up and down. He lifted a brow and waited.

“Gospel,” Tony finally said. “Or sea shanties.”

“...Sea shanties,” Steve repeated, surprised, backing up and pushing open the lunch room door with his hip.

Tony followed close behind, continuing, “Oh yeah. Just add some gray hair to your cabled sweater, maybe a captain’s hat, and you’d look just like that guy chasing the big white whale.” The drone dutifully followed along.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly, holding open the door for Tony. “Moby Dick?” He deposited the remains of the mug in the nearest garbage bin.

“No, the captain. Not the whale. You’re a big guy, but not...” Tony looked at the table and studied the supplies there. The picture distracted him from his compliment. He plucked the photo up off of the table to get a closer look and Steve’s heart sank into his stomach. “I’m finally learning all sorts of things about you, Captain Ahab. You like Rammstein  _ and  _ you appear to be making some sort of art project in the break room.”

Anxiety prickled along the back of Steve’s neck, making his hair stand on end.

Tony turned to face Steve, holding up the photo. “That’s you, clearly,” and he tapped just above Steve’s face, “but who’s the other guy?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Mr. Stark,” Steve insisted quietly. He hung the dustpan and the broom back on the hanger, squaring his shoulders, readying for a fight.

“Tony. And I think you owe me some kinda indulgence for calling me by my dad’s name.”

Steve studied the expression on Tony’s face. The goosebumps hadn’t entirely faded, but Tony didn’t seem mad, if anything he looked curious. Even the drone flying just beyond his shoulder appeared to be entranced by the photo.

Tony glanced up at Steve and said, “I knew you were in the service. I mean, you are part of the vet program we’ve got going on.” His attention returned to the photo. “You look like you were having a good time.”

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, there were good moments, sure.”

“And he’s a good moment?”

Steve waited a beat before sighing and nodding. “That’s Bucky. He and I were… Friends. He was my best friend.”

The smile on Tony’s face faded. “...Oh, I’m sorry for your loss, big guy.”

“He’s not--” Steve paused. He didn’t know what happened to Bucky, but at the very least… “He didn’t die during our service. He was hurt. Badly. And then he was sent home.”

Tony exhaled and set the print down. Surveying the remaining supplies, he picked up the postcard. He flipped it over and found the blank side where a picture should be.  “You sending him the photo?” he asked. “You know, there are easier ways to do that now.”

“Ha-ha,” Steve responded dryly. “I don’t have a clue how to actually contact him.” He noticed a sly smile appearing on Tony’s face and rushed out, “He deleted all his social media accounts. He changed his number. It’s like he just… disappeared.”

Tony nodded quietly. All traces of his familiar smirk were replaced with something more thoughtful, softening the laugh lines around his eyes. He returned the postcard to the table. “So, what’s the project?” he asked.

“Uh… it’s an art project?” Steve offered. Sitting down in one of the chairs at the table, he explained, “You submit a secret anonymously and this website might post it for people to see.”

“‘Might’?” Tony took the opportunity to plop himself down in the chair next to Steve. He braced his elbows on the edge of the table, far from the photo or any of Steve’s supplies. “On the off-chance that your ‘secret’ gets posted to the website… then what happens?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing, I guess.”

Tony looked at the photo, then back at Steve. “You’re not hoping he’ll see it and contact you?”

Steve picked up the Sharpie so he could twirl it around his fingers, a nervous tic. “I mean, I guess part of me is.” He set the marker down again and just tried to be still. It was so easy when he was still in the service, but now that he was stateside, it was the hardest thing in the world. His therapist called it progress, he called it what it was: Awkward fidgeting. “But what are the odds? Statistically it makes no sense that my postcard arrives intact, gets posted, and that Bucky even looks at the website during that specific week. Or at all.”

They sat in silence, except for the hum of the drone just over Tony’s shoulder. Steve squinted at the drone, until Tony said, “I could help you find him.”

Steve shook his head. “No. That’s creepy.” He sighed and scrubbed at his face. “If he disappeared from the internet and hasn’t reached out to me, then…” Something caught in his throat and the next few words came out reedy. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

The drone chirped, but Tony waved it off. It went quiet, like it could sense the sombre tone in the room. “Sorry. I just figured it would be a lot easier than this whole ‘sending out intentions to the universe’ thing,” he said. The drone beeped again and Tony waved it off again. “I’ve got a meeting, but… Look, Steve.”

Tony smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Take it from someone who knows. After something like  _ that _ , it’s probably not that he doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s just working through some stuff.” He patted his shoulder once more, then said, “Those’re some beefy shoulders there, Captain.”

Steve finally cracked a smile and shook his head. 

Tony grinned in return. “Thanks for chatting with me. Good luck with your project.” 

He stood, bumping into the drone, then turned to whisper an apology to it. The drone beeped once again and Tony sighed, “I know. I know. I’m late to another meeting.” He marched out of the breakroom, a man walking towards certain death or at least a lecture on punctuality.

Steve watched him go, then looked down at the pieces of his project. He reached out for the scissors and the photo print. While he trimmed off the excess paper, Steve realized that this was more of a reach than he had expected. Explaining it to Tony made it obvious. There was a snowball’s chance in hell that Bucky would ever see this postcard. There was then an even less chance that anything would come from it if Bucky saw it.

He stared at the photo once it was trimmed. His heart  _ ached _ .

Bucky was worth a snowball’s chance. Even if he decided not to reach out to Steve after seeing the photo, at the very least Bucky would know that there was someone out there that was thinking of him. That Steve still cared about him. Steve could live with putting out a simple invitation to the universe.

_ I miss you, Bucky and I hope you know that. _


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky laid in bed, the early morning sunlight filtering in through his blinds. The clock on his nightstand said 5:36am. He had another twenty-four  minutes before his alarm went off and he got up to face the day. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the wallet next to the clock. He fished out a photo and examined it.

Love-worn and dog-eared, the photo was like a favorite childhood stuffed animal. His thumb rubbed over the face of the smiling soldier sitting next to a much younger Bucky. They were so young back then. He had been whole and happy, so sure that it would all be  _ fine _ . He wondered if Steve was okay now too.

He looked at the back of the photo, where Peggy had neatly written: “My two favorite guys. April 26, 2013.”

The Bucky in that photo was six years younger. It felt more like six generations.

The alarm clock began to ring. Bucky set down the photo before reaching up to switch the alarm off. He pushed himself out of bed and stretched his one arm over his head. His back popped several times and it felt like heaven, even if he  simultaneously felt like a marionette being yanked by a puppeteer. He hoped his puppeteer would get him moving faster today. Yesterday he’d been a slug.

Bucky grabbed a change of clothes, and his phone before heading out of his room to the shared bathroom in the hall. He passed his mom, Winnie, and mumbled, “Morning,” to her.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she greeted, “George brought donuts back from his coffee run. We left you a bear claw on the counter.”

Bucky smiled and nodded, “Thanks. I’ll come down after I shower.”

His parents were always so chipper in the mornings now. It was a stark contrast from their tiptoeing around him when he’d first been shipped home. His therapist  _ was _ right sometimes. Bucky would just never admit it.

He went through his morning routine. He had it down to ten minutes. Even on his worst days, he could usually struggle through the monotony . Shower, shave, brush his teeth. Today, he felt confident enough to try and style his hair. 

He fished his forgotten phone from his pajama pocket and propped it up on the sink after summoning a video on how to braid hair. A young woman with one arm greeted him—greeted her viewers, Bucky corrected himself—and then walked through how she braided her hair. He followed along and once he was done, examined himself in the mirror. The braid looked better than a couple days ago  _ and _ he only had to pause the video three times.

After dressing, he headed downstairs. His dad sat at the kitchen table, nose buried in his tablet. Bucky squeezed past him to get to the donuts on the kitchen island.

“Mornin’,” his dad, George, greeted. He didn’t tear his eyes from the headline story he was reading.

Bucky raised his donut to him and added a quick, “Mornin’.”

“You wanna read this bullshit with me?”George asked, gesturing with the tablet.

Bucky glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Sure. I’ve got time.” He pulled out the nearest chair and settled into it. He took a bite of the donut, only for George to push a napkin towards him. Bucky took it grudgingly, setting his sticky donut down.

“Winnie says I spend too much time reading the news--” 

“--You do,” Bucky deadpanned. He’d lost count of how many times they’ve had this conversation. 

George insisted, “--I gotta keep up with this bullshit.” He sipped his coffee without setting down his tablet.

“You sound like Becca. Both you, her, and her husband, all obsessed with the news.” Bucky took another bite of his donut. His phone vibrated. He set the donut down, pulled the phone out of his pocket, and looked at the notification on the lock screen. He had a message.

**u/carelessromantic:** _Hey, you there?_

While George rambled on in the background—something about having to pull their heads out of the sand—Bucky responded.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _Hey. Kinda. What’s up?_

**u/carelessromantic:** _ I just wanted an update. Found anything new yet? _

Bucky’s thumb tapped at the edge of the phone. He glanced at his father, back down at the phone, and then he typed an answer.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _Yeah, but it’s on my computer. I’ll be there in a bit._

When Bucky looked up again, he found George watching. He smiled sheepishly and said, “Sorry. Just responding to a message from a friend.”

George smiled brightly. He seemed surprised that Bucky was capable of human connection that wasn’t forced on him. “Oh! You should go chat. Don’t let your old man keep you.”

Bucky swallowed down a momentary flash of rage. He wanted to insist that this was normal. That he had friends,  _ Dad _ . But when he tried to think about the last time he’d talked to anyone outside of his family or his therapist, he drew a blank.

Of course, George would be thrilled if Bucky managed to do anything that seemed normal.

“Thanks, Dad.” Bucky smiled, albeit strained. He popped the phone into his pocket, picked up his donut, and headed back the way he came. He managed not to rush until he got to the stairs. He thundered up the flight and ducked into his room.

He dropped into the desk chair across from his bed and opened up his laptop. His homepage loaded and he clicked on his open chat with  **carelessromantic** .

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Change of plans. I’m at my computer now. _

**u/carelessromantic:** _ Lucky me! So, you said you had an update??? _

Bucky could not stop the grin on his face as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _I think I found her._

He opened his bookmarked research folder. The first link was the original secret that had kicked off this project. It was a black and white photo of a smiling man and woman. The man’s eyes had been blocked out by a thick line of Sharpie. The woman’s face was completely unmarked, except for some damage from transit. A message had been written in that same Sharpie: “All I want for Christmas is to tell you how much you mean to me.”

That fateful Sunday after reading through the secrets, Bucky had come to the subreddit to find a post by  **carelessromantic** , claiming the secret as his and waxing poetic about how much he missed her, how they were meant to be, and how happy she made him.

Bucky wasn’t the only one who took on the case, but Bucky had the advantage of time on his hands. It was one of the only benefits of not having a job.

His chat window pinged like crazy.

**u/carelessromantic:** _No way!_

 **u/carelessromantic:** _You can’t just leave me hanging like that!_

**u/carelessromantic:** _ Tell me more! _

**u/carelessromantic:** _ Where’d you go? _

Bucky snorted. 

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Hold your horses. I’m just getting everything pulled up. _

The link he was looking for finally loaded; the Facebook profile of the woman in question. She looked nearly the same as she did in the photo  **carelessromantic** submitted to PostSecret, only a couple years older, and her arms around a large German Shepherd. Her name was listed as Stacy Taylor.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ The only thing I’m not sure about is that her last name is different than what you sent me. _

Bucky sent the link through chat and waited. He didn’t get an immediate response, leaving his fingers itching.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Maybe she’s married or something, but her whole profile is locked down. _

**u/carelessromantic:** _You found her Facebook profile? Come on, man, I could’ve found her Facebook!_

Bucky frowned at the screen.

**u/carelessromantic:** _I need to know how to contact her._

 **u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _Friend her and send a message?_

 **u/carelessromantic:** _How’s that going to win her back?_

 **u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _Dude, if she’s married, that’s not going to work._

 **u/carelessromantic:** _She’s not married. Taylor is her middle name._

Bucky’s fingers bounced lightly on the keys while he considered what to say next. He supposed it was unlikely that she was married to someone that had the same last name as her middle name. Although, stranger things have happened.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _Okay, I’ll keep working. I have some ideas._

It wouldn’t be the first person he’d found the exact location of. Now that he had her name and Facebook profile, he could use information from the people that Stacy had friended to help narrow down where she lived precisely.

**u/carelessromantic:** _Thanks, dude._

 **u/carelessromantic:** _This is why that subreddit is so cool. People are so willing to help._

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ No problem. :) _

**carelessromantic** kept chatting, but Bucky’s mind had already shifted to his next task. He started clicking through what little showed on Stacy’s profile. He figured a couple of them were family members. They didn’t have to live near her, but… 

After following a couple dead end rabbit holes, Bucky struck paydirt. He found Stacy at her job through a comment by her mother. She was an elementary school teacher in Illinois and by searching through a school directory, he found her work email and her number. On a whim, he plugged in that number, which lead him to an address of a small house in a quiet suburb.

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Phone number and address, I think. _

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Not sure how to confirm it since it’s so far away. Can’t exactly go walk by it. _

**u/carelessromantic:** _ Oh shit, she moved back to her mom’s town. _

**u/carelessromantic:** _ Don’t know why I didn’t figure that out. _

**u/w_i_n_t_e_r:** _ Just takes talent. ;) _

Bucky pushed away from the desk and straightened his back. It popped a couple times. Clearly he’d been slouched over for far too long.

He glanced down at the clock near his computer, and his eyes went wide. He missed the posting time by several hours. It wasn’t like he would miss the secrets. He just wouldn’t be the first to comment about them. He loaded up PostSecret from the first bookmark on his bar.

He scrolled down the familiar black page and smiled at the first secret: It was an old painting of two women sitting on a couch, with a lazy scrawl across their skirts: “Wasting time with you has been the biggest joy of my life.”

He passed a couple more secrets that didn’t spark his interest—things about stealing or going to the bathroom—and stopped at a plain white card that read: “I can’t last another year in the closet, so here goes…” He stared at that card for a little bit longer before finally scrolling past. As much as he wanted to check up on the person, there wasn’t enough information. He just hoped they were happy.

He had barely finished processing that thought when another photo scrolled into view. Everything around him stopped. His heart, the clock, the sounds of footsteps downstairs, all went silent as he found himself staring at a copy of the photo he kept in his wallet. Both his and Steve’s eyes had been scribbled out and, above them, someone had written, “My biggest (only) regret…” The second image showed the back of the card, with the continued message, “is that I didn’t tell you back then that I loved you. I didn’t know until I lost you. (Wherever you are now, I hope you are happy.)”

Regret. Love. Loss.

Bucky gasped for breath and his lungs ached. His hand had found its way to his mouth, pressing over it, and his unblinking eyes stared at the screen.

He wasn’t thinking when he hauled himself to his feet. He took a couple steps to his closet, threw open the door, and dropped to his knees. He pushed aside discarded hoodies and clothes to find his footlocker. His fingers flexed against the lid.

You have to know, Barnes.

He forced himself to flip open the latches, then the locker itself. He pushed past his old uniform, some letters and papers, to the bottom. There, he found a small bundle of cards that he’d kept from his time in the hospital. He untied them and flipped through the cards until he found a small one decorated with a hand drawn wolf in a cast. Inside the card, Steve had written, “We miss you. Rooting for your recovery. No one can ever replace you. Love, Steve.”

Bucky took the card back to the computer desk and held it up to the secret.

There was no mistaking it. That was Steve’s handwriting.

Steve missed him. 

Steve loved him?

Bucky lowered the card, still staring at the screen. It felt like everything had started moving again, only to race around him. His heart hammered and his guts were tying themselves up in knots.

Steve wanted to talk to him, even after Bucky had completely detached himself from anyone or anything to do with his time in the service?

It was hard to believe.

His hand moved without realizing it. He fished out his phone, opened his contact list, and scrolled down. His thumb hovered over the call button, but he forced himself to tap it.

The phone displayed ‘Calling Peggy…’ and began to ring.

Bucky stared at it until the line clicked and a familiar voice asked on the other end, “Bucky? Is everything okay?”

He raised the phone to his ear. “Peg, he wants to talk to me,” he croaked. That broke the dam and tears spilled down Bucky’s face. He curled up on the chair and clung to the phone, his only lifeline to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art by odetteandodile. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you feeling any better?” Peggy asked gently. 

Bucky pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he could scrub the tears from his face. He sniffled and managed, “Yeah, Peg. Thanks.”

There was a pregnant pause between them before Peggy said, “So… what do you think you’re going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky sank back on his chair and stared ahead at the secret still on his monitor. If he closed his eyes, he still saw it, clear as day. The knowledge of what had happened had just barely settled in his knotted stomach and Peggy wanted to know his course of action? “I can barely process all of this.”

She sighed. It wasn’t a rubbing-at-the-bridge-of-her-nose sigh, though. She just sounded sad. “Of course,” she said gently, “No one’s expecting you to immediately call him up. But now you know his phone number. You know he wants to talk to you. You can take your time and make the decision.”

“The  _ decision _ ,” Bucky scoffed.

“Well, yeah. You can always not respond.”

Bucky swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t just do that. Knowing what I know now.”

Peggy coaxed, “Then you take whatever time you need. There’s no need to jump in and make rash decisions. You can give him a call when you’re nice and calm.”

“I don’t think I’m ever calm anymore,” Bucky laughed.

He could imagine her somber smile as she said, “It gets easier, Buck. I believe in you.”

As much as he wanted to shoot back that it was never going to get easier, he knew, somewhere deep inside, that she was right. “Thanks, Peggy.”

“Now, go wash your face, get some water, probably some food. You’ll feel better once you’ve got food in your belly.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Peggy hadn’t changed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” Peggy lingered for a moment, then said, “I’m glad you called. I miss talking to you.”

“I’ll try to call again soon…” Bucky felt the guilt beginning to settle into the pit of his stomach where his anxiety had subsided.

“I know. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Bye.” Bucky lowered the phone and ended the call. He stared at the phone, then opened up his text messages. The latest message, from Peggy, contained Steve’s phone number. He left it alone and turned back to his computer.

He stared at Steve’s secret. It was the most romantic gesture he’d could have imagined. He should at least return the favor. A single phone call wouldn’t do.

For the first time, he searched for Steve’s name.

After some filtering (because Steve Rogers was not the most uncommon name), he found the right Steve. His Steve. His Facebook page, unlocked and open to the world, was full of information. Steve was an art student. He worked at Stark Robotics doing data entry. He shared articles about politics and art and new technologies. 

From there, he found his Instagram. There were countless selfies of Steve and photos of what Bucky assumed were his friends. Between the selfies, Steve posted beautiful paintings and drawings. During deployment, Steve had done nothing but sketch during their downtime and now…

He lingered on a photo of Steve, smiling that big dopey grin of his. The nerdy glasses he wore could not hide his sparkling blue eyes, a backwards baseball cap only barely contained his messy blond hair, and a paint-smeared sleeveless shirt made it obvious what he’d been up to. The beautiful bastard even had a beard now. Bucky’s heart hammered.

Right click. Save photo.

Steve was living his best life and he was still thinking about Bucky.

He dove in deeper. Steve was so easy to find on Facebook, Bucky doubted he’d taken precautions to secure any of his other information. He was attending Brooklyn College, enrolled as an Art and Business double major, and apparently a stellar student--there were several articles about his art projects. 

A knock came from his door. Bucky jumped and straightened up abruptly. Winnie called from beyond the door, “Bucky, sweetheart, do you want to join us for dinner tonight?”

Bucky sighed. “Nah, Ma. I’m not hungry.”

Winnie shuffled a bit. Bucky could see the shadow of her feet beneath his door. “All right. I’ll leave you some leftovers in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” Bucky waited until her shadow disappeared, then he turned back towards the computer screen. He paused and stretched his fingers out before resuming his search.

Steve lived in an apartment complex off-campus and Bucky confirmed it using some of Steve’s photos. Based on the listing, he expected at least one roommate. It was expensive for a student, even if he was getting help from his GI Bill and working at least part time.

By the time Bucky had found the exact address and apartment number, it was night. Street light filled his window. At some point, he was sure his parents had wandered past his room to go to bed. The house was quiet.

After a quick search, Bucky found several busses leaving for New York that night. It cost around $150, a mere dip into his savings, and he would be in New York City before dawn.

Bucky stood. He dug a backpack out of his closet and tossed it on the bed. He filled it with clothes and some toiletries. He hoisted it onto his shoulder and picked up his phone again to summon a Lyft.

Five minutes later, he was waiting out on the front stoop of his parent’s townhouse when a car pulled up. He climbed in, mumbled a quick, “Hey,” to the driver, and sank back in the seat for the drive to the bus station.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky looked up at the apartment building in the early morning hours. It was quite a step up from the barracks they’d shared six years ago. The street itself was beginning to wake up. Dogs and their walkers trotted by on the sidewalk behind him, construction workers chatted on their way to work, and cars puttered along. It would soon be a bustling, lively neighborhood.

He looked down at the door. He pulled at the handle and the door clunked in the frame. Locked.

Then the door swung open. He bounced back just in time to avoid being hit by the door and blinked owlishly at the man pushing it open. The stranger looked just as surprised to see him. He was holding a travel mug and hauling a bike with him. 

Bucky moved to hold the door open while the stranger bundled his bike down to the street. He thanked Bucky before climbing on and heading down the street. When the man had departed, Bucky took the opportunity to duck inside.

The apartment was up a couple flights of stairs. Bucky took them two at a time and quickly found himself staring at the actual apartment door. It was unreal. Steve (and a roommate or two) was beyond this door. His palm was sweaty, his heart was jumping up into his throat, and his stomach was doing somersaults. This had to be how  **carelessromantic** would feel when he walked up to his ex’s home.

Despite the adrenaline pumping through every fiber of his being, Bucky could not make his hand move. The door was just a couple inches ahead of him. He could curl his fingers into a fist, could bend his arm, raise his fist, and just… knock. But that arm was locked at his side. Frozen. A wild contrast to the rest of him, burning with anxiety.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed just staring at the door.

Then the door clicked. And swung in. Bucky jumped and his eyes darted up to the face of a very handsome black man. That man stared at him, his brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened. His face lit up with a wide, easy grin that displayed a charming gap between his front teeth. Even with his general unease around strangers, Bucky could see that this was a genial guy. 

“Oh shit,” the man breathed out. “You’re--”

Bucky swallowed. The man rattled off a couple stunted sentences that amounted to, “You’re that guy!”

When Bucky was out in public, it was common to have attention directed at his missing arm. The stranger stared intently at his face. It was without judgment but the intensity of trying to identify him was a whole new type of uncomfortable. It became unbearable. Bucky prompted, “What guy?”

“Steve’s guy. The one in all his photos.” The stranger snapped his fingers and pointed at Bucky.  “Bucky. His friend.”

Bucky hesitated, but he nodded briefly. The man grinned brightly and held the door open and reached out to take Bucky by the shoulder, telling him, “Come in. Come in. Do you want a coffee? I’m going out to get some. Our coffee maker broke.”

Bucky narrowly avoided his hand while still stepping into the tiny entryway. There was a backpack on the floor nearby, coats hanging above it, and the living room was cluttered. More than two people lived there.

“Bucky?” the man asked.

Bucky blinked and looked back at him. “...Nah, I’m okay. And you are?” He turned so he could fully face the man in the doorway. 

The man paused and laughed, “Sam. I’m Sam. Steve’s roommate. My girlfriend is still showering and Steve is getting ready for school.” Sam pointed towards the couch, “Make yourself at home. Steve’ll be out in a bit, yeah?”

The whirlwind that was Sam disappeared out the door, closing it with a thunk, leaving Bucky standing in the entryway. Bucky listened to the footsteps disappearing down the hallway then turned his focus to the shower that was just ending down the hall. He stepped away from the door and into the living room. If Sam’s girlfriend was really in the shower, the last thing he wanted was to freak her out by looming in the door.

The clutter in the living room drew his attention. Several thick textbooks were stacked on one end of the coffee table, a laptop on the other end, with a power cord snaking beneath the couch to the outlet behind it. Between the textbooks and the laptop, there was an open sketchbook. It was full of drawings of… his face. His face from six years ago.

If the secret had given him a heart attack, the drawing was about to give him an aneurysm. 

“Who’re you?” said a woman behind him.

Bucky abruptly straightened up and turned around. A redhead woman stood in the entry now. She was dressed in pajama pants and a tanktop, mopping at her curls with a towel. She squinted at Bucky, then glanced towards the sketchbook on the table. Her eyes widened and she looked back at Bucky’s face.

The woman said, with a canary-eating grin, “So, Steve managed to summon you.”

“Summon me?” Bucky croaked, his cheeks turning scarlet. Steve had weird friends and they all knew him on sight alone.

“His secret. He made his art project, sent it into that website, and he only just told us when it got promoted.” She draped the towel over her shoulders. “Is it coincidence or…?”

Bucky thought about lying. He had a feeling that this woman would see right through him, like Peggy always used to “I saw it.”

She nodded again, then stepped forward. She offered her hand to him, “I’m Natasha. And I’m glad you’re here.”

Bucky hesitated but he shook her hand. “Sam said he was making a coffee run.”

Natasha’s face lit up with a smile. She slipped past Bucky, dropped down onto the couch, and patted one of the other cushions. Her smile said invitation but the body language said order.

Bucky sat.

“You can relax,” Natasha teased him. 

She crossed her legs beneath her and leaned forward to study him, while Bucky slipped the bag off his shoulder and set it between his feet.

She looked back at the drawing. “I like the long hair. Suits you.”

“Thanks.” Bucky felt compelled to explain why he’d grown it out, but then he heard a door open. 

“I bet he’s gonna like it too,” Natasha continued.

Bucky couldn’t hear her. He was focused entirely on the footsteps in the hallway. He straightened up and spun on the couch to face the entry.

Steve shuffled into view. He yawned and rubbed the heel of his palm into one of his eyes. 

Bucky had spent the entire ride looking through Steve’s Instagram feed. He was a dream in photos: The human equivalent of a golden retriever. If the golden retriever had thumbs, brilliant artistic talent, and abs to bounce a quarter off of. Steve in real life was so far beyond any fantasy he’d concocted on the ride.

Steve lowered his hand and blinked at the living room. 

He squinted. 

He said, “Nat, who’s your friend?”


	7. Chapter 7

The words echoed in Bucky’s ears and the world dropped out from beneath him.

Steve didn’t recognize him.

Bucky didn’t know how he found his feet, but he managed. He staggered over his bag. There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to grab it. 

No time.

He crashed past Steve, knocking him into the nearest wall, and then he crashed into the front door. His hand fumbled with the knob.

Twist.

Pull.

The door flung open and he swung around it.

Natasha shouted, “Wait, wait, come back!” She scrambled after Bucky, tripping over his bag too, but she quickly recovered. “Steve, go after him!” she snapped, “It’s  _ Bucky _ .”

Steve stared at her for a beat too long, while that information settled in his stomach. He whipped around, caught the door, and raced down the hallway.

Bucky wheeled around the railing and onto the stairs. Voices shouted behind him, but they all blurred together into a cacophony that clawed at the back of his head, that chased him on.

He was stupid--so stupid to have come here.

He staggered on the last stair, but managed to catch himself. He stopped just short of the front door, so he could grab for the doorknob. He shoved open the door.

Behind him, there was a crash and a howl of pain. He glanced over his shoulder, to see Steve in a heap on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest. 

Go back. Go back. Go back.

But he was already moving forward, jumping down the stoop, and taking off down the street.

He kept running, darting through crowds of commuters, across streets, between cars, until his lungs burned and his legs were shaking. He staggered to a stop. He grabbed at a nearby wall, calloused fingers digging into the rough brick of the building.

It felt like his heart was going to explode.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. He ignored it. He needed to focus. Breathe in. One, two, three-- _ buzz buzz buzz _ .

He huffed out that breath. Breathe in. One-- _ buzz buzz buzz _ . 

Breathe.  _ Buzz buzz buzz. _

Bucky yanked his phone out of his pocket, accepted the call without looking, and snarled, “What!”

The woman on the other end paused, then said, “Is this Winter?”

“...What?” he repeated. The fight was completely gone from his voice, giving way to tight and tremulous. 

“From Reddit?” she prompted.

The name, spoken aloud, felt so out of place. She meant  **w_i_n_t_e_r** . Bucky was already wheeling from Steve and his flight and now… “Yeah?” 

She sighed. Bucky could imagine her shaking her head on the other end, but then she said, “What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?”

That finally kickstarted his brain. “Who are  _ you _ ? What are you talking about?” He wished he sounded demanding and aggressive. He couldn’t summon the energy. He turned so he could lean his back up against the brick, to push himself into as small of a space as he could take up.

“My name is Stacy. Ring a bell?”

Bucky swallowed against the lump in his throat. “You’re that guy’s ex.” 

“Yep. That’s me.” Her voice was light and flowery, but Bucky could sense the viper hiding among the cloying sweetness. 

“How’d you find my number?” he decided to ask.

“You’re not the only one who can find private information,” she hissed.

“I thought-- I just--” Bucky couldn’t find the right words.

“No,” she snapped, “It’s my turn. I deserve it after you sent my abusive ex-husband right to my fucking doorstep.”

“ _ What _ ?” Bucky wished he had another hand to cover his face. “No, he just said he wanted to get back together. Lost love and--”

“--Stop!” she demanded. “He played you like a fiddle. He always does. Playing so sweet and innocent. Like he cares. He posts some cute fucking photo on some website and then plays the victim on another.”

The longer she spoke, the more Bucky felt like he was going to vomit.

Stacy didn’t give him a chance to respond, rushing into her story, “You don’t know what he’s done to me. Or how far I’ve come. And now I’ve got to start over because he’s found me.”

Bucky croaked out, “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know,” she mocked. 

“I really didn’t. I just…” Bucky blinked back stinging tears and tried to take a deep breath, “I thought it was a lost love. For real. Like I had.”

For several beats, all Bucky could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and the static of her breathing. It was worse than outright silence.

“I thought he was going to break down my door,” she started slowly. Her voice had begun to shake too. “I called the cops. I think my dog going crazy was the only reason he wasn’t dumb enough to come in the door. He got arrested and now I have to decide whether or not to get a restraining order on him because then I’d only just be handing him a paper with my new address.”

Bucky listened to the static again for a beat, before saying, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

On the other end of the line, Stacy quietly sobbed. Her dog whined. Bucky imagined the dog pushing his nose up into her face.

Bucky quietly continued, “I can’t take anything back. I wish I could. I’m just… I’m sorry he tricked me too.”

Stacy sniffled and said, “People showing up unannounced only works in movies, you idiot. Real life is so much more complicated and delicate and fucked up and…” She hesitated and shuffled something on the phone, “I’m going to hang up. I just… I needed to tell you what you did. And tell you to not fucking do it again.”

“I won’t,” Bucky promised, his voice creaking. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“You should be sorry.” She swallowed, “If I hear about you again, I’m giving your information to the cops. They can deal with you then.”

She hung up and the phone went quiet. Bucky lowered the phone to stare at his home screen. His notification bar was full with missed calls, voicemails, and unread text messages. With a shaking thumb, he opened up his text messages. The screen was full of messages from his parents and his sister, begging him to respond and let them know where he was. At the top of the screen, in the middle of all of the chaos, was a simple text message from Peggy:  _ How are you feeling? _

_ Can I call you? _ Bucky responded.

Almost immediately, she texted back:  _ I’m free right now. _

Bucky pushed on the button and his screen lit up again with, ‘Calling Peggy…’


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky didn’t wait for Peggy to say, “Hello.” The second the line connected, he admitted, “I fucked up, Peg.”

Peggy paused like she was counting down from five. As calm and measured as always, she said, “What do you mean?”

Peggy was a perfect leader. She knew what to say, when to say it, and how to fix everything. Bucky needed her to fix everything.

“It’s a long story, I just--I--” Bucky stumbled over his words as he tried to figure out where to start.

“Breathe,” she encouraged. “Bucky, where are you?”

“New York.”

“...New York,” Peggy repeated. “What do you mean New York?”

Bucky finally felt the dam beginning to break. Between Steve and Stacy and not sleeping on the bus and running for  _ however _ long… It felt like he would drown in his tears. 

It was the last place he thought he’d ever be: Sobbing on a street in New York, surrounded by strangers just passing him by.

“Shh,” Peggy tried to soothe on the other end of the phone. “It’s okay. We can fix whatever went wrong, I promise.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “I fucked it up. Permanently. And Steve--he… he didn’t…”

“ _ Steve _ ?” Peggy clearly bit her tongue, though she wanted to demand more information. 

“He didn’t  _ recognize me _ , Peggy!”

The sound of static filled the phone again. 

Bucky panted out, “Please. Don’t just go quiet.”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Peggy said, her voice even. “I was just waiting to see if you were done telling me the story. I’m… missing some pieces.” That was generous. Bucky was too upset to say anything clearly. She continued, “Where are you staying?”

“I… I don’t have anywhere.” Bucky sniffled and pulled the phone away so he could wipe his face on his forearm.

“What do you mean you don’t have anywhere? What was your plan?”

Bucky whimpered, “I thought I’d just stay with Steve.”

“...Okay. That’s…” She took a moment to collect herself before asking, You wanted to surprise him?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Bucky listened to the clatter of a keyboard. There was a slight thunk and Peggy spoke again, sounding further away and just a little bit louder, “Okay, Bucky. I need you to tell me where you are. I’m gonna get you a hotel for the night and you’re gonna go there. You’re going to get washed up, take a nap, eat, something. Get yourself balanced again.”

“I--I don’t know…” Bucky swallowed and panted out a little breath.

“You can send me your location via a text message.” Peggy guided him gently through the process until she had his location. “Okay. There’s a hotel on the corner. I’ll get you a room for now.”

“Peggy, you don’t have to,” Bucky tried to protest.

“I take care of my men. That hasn’t stopped because you’re not in the army anymore.”

Bucky closed his mouth. It felt like she had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

After some time of clattering and clicking, Peggy said, “Okay. You’re going to go to the red building on the corner, go inside, and say you’re checking in.”

“Red building,” Bucky repeated. “Is it under my name?”

“Yes, sir,” she chirped. It was painfully sincere. It should have been reassuring, but Bucky only felt more guilty.

“Will you stay on the line?” he asked her.

“Sure, Buck.”

Bucky followed her instructions. The man at the front desk seemed a little concerned at Bucky’s red-ringed eyes, flushed face, and shaky voice, but he didn’t say anything. Once he arrived at the room, Bucky unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was a bare bones room, but clean. It was barely bigger than the bed and a small bathroom, but Bucky didn’t need anything huge. Hell, this was even too much than he deserved.

He sank down to sit on the corner of the bed. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my fault you had to do any of this…” Bucky could feel the tears threatening again.

Peggy said firmly, “No. Absolutely not. Don’t feel guilty about this.”

“You don’t understand,” Bucky hissed.

“Help me understand.”

Peggy was so good and so kind. Bucky didn’t deserve her. He took in a deep breath that rattled in his chest and told her the whole story: From his years-long obsession with PostSecret and how he learned to find people, how he found Stacy and apparently her ex-husband was the worst kind of person, and finally how he showed up at Steve’s apartment and then…

“You used your skills to find out where Steve lived, like you did that Stacy woman?” Peggy asked. He could hear the strain in her voice. 

Bucky bowed his head. The whole story, laid out so bare, burned him. “I’m an idiot,” he mumbled.

Peggy sighed. “You meant well. If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only idiot.”

“It feels like it.”

“Oh no. Steve’s also an idiot. You’re both idiots. You deserve each other.”

Bucky barked out a clipped, strained laugh.

Peggy continued, “Such roundabout ways of admitting you two are crazy for each other. You two fell in love at first sight. Drove the rest of us nuts.”

Bucky stared at the floor, at his boots, at the old carpet. He shuffled over a loose piece of yarn. Slowly, he said, “Was it that obvious?”

It was Peggy’s turn to laugh. She had to set the phone down while she laughed hard and long and loud. Bucky imagined the tears at the corner of her eyes, her arms hugging herself around the middle. He smiled and let out a little laugh again, “...So it was that obvious.”

When Peggy grabbed at the phone again, she was still shaking with aftershock giggles. “Oh my god, Bucky. I’ve never seen anyone so absolutely smitten. Both of you.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched down. He chewed on his lower lip. “Then why didn’t he recognize me?”

She took in a couple breaths to calm herself. This trauma wasn’t a laughing matter, of course. When she’d breathed out the last of her mirth, she said, “I don’t know, Buck. There could be a lot of reasons. Maybe he was just in shock. Maybe he was still tired. I don’t even know what you look like now, so maybe you’re just so different now.”

“His roommates recognized me,” Bucky pointed out. He pinched the phone between his shoulder and head to wipe at his eyes finally. He was completely drained of energy. Every single movement felt like he was swimming through wet concrete.

“Then something else had to be wrong.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Bucky sighed and finally slumped back onto the bed. He closed his eyes to stop the room from swimming around him.

Peggy hesitated, then said, “Get some rest, Bucky. No human can make good decisions while exhausted.”

“And then what?” Bucky opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling above him.

“And then you call him, you dork,” Peggy huffed. “You’re going to be fine, Bucky. I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

Steve stared at his phone, fumbling it between his fingers. The text message on the screen kept his attention, even while Natasha sat a full coffee mug down in front of him.

Thirty minutes ago, Bucky had written:  _ I’m on my way. _

Steve had responded back:  _ Can’t wait _ .

The words were slightly blurry through his old, crooked glasses, but they were better than not wearing glasses at all.

“Staring at the phone isn’t gonna make him come faster,” Natasha scolded gently.

“Yeah, but what if he texts something else?” Steve looked up. 

Sam took the opportunity to steal that phone from Steve’s hands. He set it on the coffee table while Steve made a protesting whine. Within reach, but not easy reach. “You have that phone on maximum volume. I’m pretty sure our neighbors can hear you.”

Steve sighed back and put his hands in his lap. He adjusted his right arm and squinted down at the purple-wrapped cast on his wrist. He felt like an idiot for not recognizing the blurry figure on the couch next to the redheaded blurry figure and his spill down the stairs only made it worse.

Goddamn Tony for stealing his glasses yesterday. Using his lenses to calibrate a laser lead him to this entire fiasco. Tony was going to get an earful.

His head jerked up when he heard three knocks on the door. 

Sam looked at Steve. When Steve didn’t budge, he furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?” Sam whispered.

“What if I fuck it up again?” Steve whispered back. 

Natasha heaved out a sigh and rolled her eyes. She tucked her feet against Steve’s hip and pushed until he was forced to either roll over on Sam or stand. Steve stood.

“Go!” Natasha hissed, pointing at the door.

There was another knock and Steve’s phone chirped loudly on the coffee table.

Steve took a breath and forced himself to cross the small room to the entryway. He opened the door and stared out.

There was Bucky, standing there in the hallway. Slightly blurry, but it was still him. His smile grew from ear to ear and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky. He squeezed him tight, the cast pressing into the small of Bucky’s back.

Bucky squeaked, his body stiffening. After a beat, he relaxed and wrapped his arm around Steve’s broad shoulders. He leaned his face into Steve’s shoulder.

“You recognize me now?” Bucky asked, pulling back to finally look at Steve. His eyes lingered on Steve’s face, then he reached up to touch the glasses. 

Steve nodded. He smiled at Bucky and tipped his head into that hand, pushing his glasses askew on his face. “How do you think I wouldn’t recognize the love of my life?”

Bucky scoffed quietly. “Dork,” he murmured. Pink blossomed over his cheeks. He nodded towards the apartment and said, “You gonna invite me in?”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes. Please.” Steve pulled back and gestured with his cast to the apartment.

Bucky looked at the cast, then stepped past Steve and into the apartment.

Steve followed Bucky into the apartment and looked into the living room, at Sam and Natasha who were grinning at the two of them. Natasha in particular looked like she was about to squeal.

Bucky wasn’t the only one red in the face. Steve waved at them, then reached out to take Bucky’s arm, to lead him through the hallway to his bedroom.

“Have fun~” the two sang behind them.

After closing the door, Steve turned to Bucky. An apology was on his lips. But then Bucky was pressing a kiss to his lips instead, smothering any words he’d wanted to say.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbled into the kiss. “I freaked out and I just--”

Steve shook his head. He pecked his lips once more. “We’re fine now. And we’ll have time to get to know each other again.”

“Not much time.”

His brow furrowed, “What? Why? You came all the way out here?”

“It’s-- I left my parent’s place without telling them.” Bucky pulled back and went to go sit down on the edge of Steve’s bed. This admission made him feel like a useless child. “They’re freaked out. I mean, the last time I disappeared…” He looked up at Steve. “I should catch another bus back tonight--”

“--I’ll drive you back,” Steve offered quickly. He smiled brightly at Bucky and crossed the room to sit beside him.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Bucky tried to protest.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Steve touched Bucky’s hand, pressing it gently against the bed between them. “I’ll drive you back. Your parents will know you’re safe. And we’ll have some extra time to get to know each other again.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “What about after?”

Steve grinned, “Well… it’s not like it’s too long of a long-distance relationship,” he offered. “If you’ll have me.”

He thought about protesting and trying to persuade Steve that he wasn’t worth it. Remembering Peggy’s encouragement, though, he said, “I wouldn’t have anyone else but you, Steve. We’re made for each other.”


End file.
